


Queen of Peace

by scrapbullet



Series: Teen Wolf Drabbles [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Allison, F/M, Gen, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Werewolf Allison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's strange, how the moon calls to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poemwithnorhyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poemwithnorhyme/gifts).



It's strange, how the moon calls to you. 

When you were small, your mom would sit at the end of your bed and tell you stories, and always the moon would play a part. Always, the man in the moon had a mischievous streak and an impulsiveness that she, stroking your hair away from your face, told you to be wary of, and in turn, you grew to be wary of its bulbous luminescence hanging in the night sky.

As a teenager you moved to a town, and in that town you met a boy. That boy was sweet as sweet could be; all warm grin and nuzzling kisses against your collarbone, scenting the sweat on your skin. That boy, with his pure heart even when the moon turned him from boy to beast, was everything to you, then. Is everything, even now.

Now, you are a woman, and you know that it's not the moon that you must be afraid of, but _people_. 

It wasn't the wolf in Peter Hale that drove him mad, drove him to kill Aunt Kate. It wasn't the wolf, because the wolf and the man were, and are, _one_ , and yet it was the man - that sentient human being with thought and awareness and choices at his bloodied fingertips - that did it all, that _wanted_ it all, and so, on the same night that Peter Hale killed Aunt Kate, he bit you.

He bit you, and you _changed_ ; smelt the fresh earth sodden with coppery blood; felt the breeze on your skin like the shock of static electricity; touched the hot wet wound on your hip and keened as suddenly, you knew what it was to be _other_ , and despaired.

The world is no longer what it once was; there will be no more stories in the warm safety of your bed. Not anymore.

Tonight, the moon is full. It ripples under your skin and makes you jittery, agitated, and Scott pulls at your wrist as he wordlessly draws you out into the night. The howl of the Alpha, deep and exultant, causes your heart to skip a beat as you run, as you both run, hand in hand to follow that sound, that thrill, that dance, that bass-low-drum-beat thumping away in the cavity of your chest as deer-rabbit-bird-prey dart beneath the boughs of trees. 

You kiss the crooked angle of Scott's jaw, and he stills. The quick-quick-heartbeat of prey no longer seems so enthralling. You grin, and it stretches your face like a wound and the sound Scott makes, low and rumbling in his chest, is as soothing as the cool touch of your mom's hand on your cheek as a child.

He touches you, reassures you, and the warmth of his skin against yours makes you strong. You'd spoken, before moonrise, before Alpha drew himself up off of his seat on the porch and licked the congealing blood from his fingers. 

No, you'd done more than just speak. You'd decided; you and Scott, two halves of a whole and sick to death of living in fear.

And so- 

_It's alright, I love you_ , he seems to say without words, and _I trust you_ , so beneath the light of the moon you howl, eyes vivid yellow and claws extended. You run, and Scott follows; his loping gait familiar, his laughing yips a joy.

The moon sings to you and you sing right back, wreathed in the blood of Peter Hale.


End file.
